


I'll take you there

by boxofwonder



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (muffled 'fast car' playing in the distance), M/M, rich kid au, tw: anxiety attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 19:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2663381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/boxofwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daichi is a flightless crow in a golden cage, and Kuroo is determined to become his wings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll take you there

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talonyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talonyth/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I'll Meet You There](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2263143) by [talonyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talonyth/pseuds/talonyth). 



> I craved a sequel to I'll Meet You There so much I went and wrote one - it's so amazing you should all check it out. Also this fic might make a whole lot more sense then :'D   
> Fanfiception B)
> 
> Dearest bff - thanks for all the inspiration and support and being so wonderful <333

Kuroo finds him. 

Of course he does. Daichi should not be surprised, and frankly, he is not. Yet, this once, he wished he would have been wrong about Kuroo. (Getting to know Kuroo actually meant discovering he had been wrong about many, many things, but right about others. Getting to know Kuroo meant a lot of things, to him.) 

“Please tell me you've taken so long in here because you at least jerked off in the meantime.” 

“Fuck off,” Daichi hisses back, his voice still strangled and he's mad, mad about the fact that Kuroo's provocation feels like soothing balm on the anxiety settling down inside of him, swelling up in his lungs until he couldn't breathe. Mad about sitting locked up in a bathroom stall. Mad that his shoes are shiny, mad that his suit is too _tight_ , again, again again again, _always_. Mad that he can't get rid of the jacket. Mad that he can't get rid of any of this, that there is only the path ahead of him and the gun at his back forcing him down it. 

His father might as well have put an actual gun against his back. 

“Who says that? Is it you, or is it your father?” 

Daichi inhales sharply, feeling like Kuroo split him open, right to his core once more, always getting under his skin. 

“Hey, Mr. Sawamura. What's it like, living in Daichi's head?” 

Daichi digs his nails into his temples, a futile attempt to ease the pressure building up in him.  
“Shut up,” he groans. Kuroo does not speak, but he comes closer, close enough so that Daichi can see his shoes in front of the door. The lack of Kuroo's shiny shoes from before startles Daichi, his hands drop into his lap. 

“Where did you put your shoes. You were wearing them before. Why on earth are you wearing sneakers.” 

His voice is still too flat, too hoarse and it makes him wince. But the lack of Kuroo's shoes drags the words out of him anyhow. 

“That's what you're worried about? The damn shoes?” 

It's not the shoes and they both know it. 

“Where are your shoes. Do you have any idea -” 

“I considered throwing them into the buffet. But that would have drawn too much attention, so I quietly left them under the table.” 

“What the hell, Kuroo. When you get back – see, this is exactly why -” 

He bites his own tongue, but the words are out. 

“This is exactly why you are not supposed to associate with me anymore?” 

Daichi does not say anything, and it is all the answer Kuroo needs. He huffs a hollow laugh, in front of this dumb bathroom stall, and shifts his stance. 

“What the fuck, Daichi. What the fuck. Look, I just – how can you even? What the fuck. Don't I mean anything to you? Did you even stand up against them or did you just smile and nod and decide to cut all ties with me? _Fuck_. When you wouldn't even glance at me I had this bad feeling, but – _fuck_ -” 

Kuroo sounds so _betrayed_ and his words are poison, pure poison, and it burns Daichi's skin and heart and his eyes sting with unshed tears. 

“You don't know anything,” Daichi rasps, breathing heavily but not feeling like there is any air reaching his lungs, even though they expand with it, everything tells him he's actually suffocating. 

“I know I thought we were friends.” 

“We _are_.” 

“And that's why you avoid me?! Because of your parents?! A true friend wouldn't _do_ that, a true friend -” 

“They're gonna send me away!” 

Daichi's voice echoes off the tiles and through the small room, booms loud and leaves everything silent. Once this part of the broken truth is out, he can't stop, he has to complete the puzzle, he needs Kuroo to _see_. 

“They're gonna send me to Europe, Kuroo. 'Eliminate bad influences'. There will be half the world between us, and like this, if I just – then at least you're not that far away, I -” 

_I could not survive with half the world between us. I could not make it without you._

“Fuck. Fuck, Daichi. Breathe. You hear me? Breathe.” 

Kuroo's voice sounds muffled and far away through the haze, through the way everything tunnels down to his lungs filled with so much fear and pressure he won't breathe. He can't _breathe_. 

“Daichi. Breathe with me. Do you hear me? Fuck. Open the door, let me be with you, let me help you. _Please_.” It's that broken last words that makes Daichi move, or maybe all of it, or maybe just the fact that he's dying and he can't keep staring at a stall door while doing so. His clammy hands find the lock and he fumbles and fumbles with it and then it clicks and the door bursts open and Kuroo is there. 

He grabs the too tight jacket and pulls it off Daichi's shoulders, tosses it to the ground and pulls Daichi out of the narrow, suffocating space into the rest of the bathroom, holding nearly all his weight as Daichi's knees won't work anymore, his body limp and his hands and feet and cheeks prickling. Kuroo helps him sit down against the wall and pulls him close, one arm wrapped around him protectively, Daichi's head resting on his chest as he curls into the protection Kuroo offers. 

It's the slow and steady beat of Kuroo's heart which eases him out of this, slowly. He synchs his breathing to Kuroo's and listens to his heartbeat as his tears keep spilling sideways over his face, across his cheeks and nose, slowly soaking his friend's shirt. 

By now, Kuroo has started to rub soft, soothing circles into his scalp, mussing up his slicked back hair to something more tousled, more free. More _him_. 

Even when Daichi has mostly calmed down again, neither of them say a word. Kuroo's fingers keep moving, in his hair, and his thumb is rubbing back and forth at his shoulder, just back and forth in a gesture so tender and endlessly affectionate. 

Daichi thinks about shiny shoes and the way Kuroo's fingers on his skin feel more like home than any of his life, and he thinks of a future without him, and a fresh flood of tears bursts out of him. He tenses in Kuroo's arms, struggles to keep it together and fails, fails utterly. 

Kuroo shifts, holding him closer, and Daichi can feel his cheek press against the top of his head, can feel the warm puff of air as Kuroo exhales. 

“So, is this gonna be it? Your life? Your family bullies you into everything they want, threatening to take what _you_ want away?” 

Daichi wants to snap at Kuroo, but Kuroo wipes the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve and it makes the words halt on his tongue. His friend had always been a touchy-feelsy person once they got over their awkward party encounter only status, but never like this. Not with that much care, not that gentle. 

“You're gonna mess up your clothes.” 

“I don't care about clothes, and shoes, and status. I care about you.” 

It's such an easy statement, yet it makes everything inside of Daichi tighten, a painful tug deep in his gut that makes his breath hitch and his fingers clench into the fabric of Kuroo's shirt and sleeve. As usual, Kuroo makes his emotions boil over while staying an unwavering rock in the endless, wild sea where the waves keep rising higher and higher the longer Daichi keeps living this life, the tighter his parents keep him, the more force they use to _make him_ into the son they had always wanted. 

“This, all this. It sucks for me. But it's destroying you, Daichi. Destroying you. I can't watch this any longer.” 

_Well, you don't have a choice_ , Daichi thinks bitterly. 

“Let me take you away. Let me make you happy.” 

There it is again, the tug in his stomach, excited, fluttery, but still painful, wrong, bad. It's impossible. 

“As if,” Daichi mutters, trying to not let that fantasy set seed in his mind, because he knows he would not survive it rooting, growing. 

“I'm serious, Daichi. I meant to ask you anyway, but this – this is more than enough. They want to send you away? They can get their will. Honestly, Daichi. Let me. Please. Let me take you away from here.” 

The words are too tempting and too sweet, and it will only hurt worse after, when Kuroo is gone and Daichi alone again, not knowing when he'll be able to see him next. 

“Don't say such things. It's impossible, so don't even … don't even start on it.” 

“I have a car. I have a shitty car and when we drive all night we're too far to find us tomorrow, and when we drive the day after, we're even further away from everything.” 

“Kuroo. _Stop_.”

“I have a car and I put away small amounts of money for two years. That's the good part, at least money isn't a problem. There's a guitar and an old blanket in the trunk.” 

“Don't do this to me.” 

“Why? Let's do it, Daichi. Let's leave it all behind for good.” 

“I _can't_. Why don't you understand?” 

Kuroo's hand stops moving in his hair, his thumb stills on Daichi's shoulder. 

“So you want to go back to your parents after this? You want to leave this bathroom and stop talking to me so they won't send you away to another _continent_ and we will not see each other again? Only the next time I find you hyperventilating in a bathroom stall? Or it could be us, and we could throw away those shoes you hate and we could escape this fake world that is literally _choking_ you.” 

The need to follow Kuroo and leave everything behind is a physical ache in his bones, had been since forever. But Daichi is a bird with clipped wings, and just because someone opens the door of his golden cage – it does not mean he can fly. He's nothing but a broken boy on the ground, shoulders empty, wingless. Not like Kuroo, who had stretched and stretched the bars of his own cage, had never been as quiet, as obedient, not anymore, not for a while. 

“I don't have clothes. Or a tooth brush. Or anything.” 

“Stores exist. You can buy an entire wardrobe of ugly flannel if your heart desires that. And we'll stop at a convenience store and get some stuff. Everything new, just like our life. We go wherever we want, stay where we like it, find a motel, find a job, find a flat together. Build something just for us. What do you say?”

It's everything, everything he longs for. All he could ask from life. 

Daichi wants it so, so badly. 

“I can't,” he repeats, a broken whisper. A single tear spills from his eye and he loathes how dramatic it is, how ridiculous it feels, how wrong and broken and hopeless _he_ feels. Without a word, Kuroo shifts again, so that he's kneeling between Daichi's legs, one hand cupping his cheek. He wipes the tear away with his thumb, and now that their eyes are locked, the movement burns on Daichi's skin. Kuroo brings his second hand up, rests it along Daichi's face, large and steady, sure of itself, the counterpart to the nervous, scared pitter-patter of Daichi's heart. Kuroo's skin is warm against his and there's a fire burning deep in his eyes, a fire untouched by any obstacle, a fire Daichi has always envied him for. 

“I can make you happy.” Kuroo's voice dropped low, a whisper between the two of them. Daichi's breath hitches in his throat and the intense tug in his stomach has nothing to do with fear and everything with the man in front of him. 

“Let me, Daichi. _Please_.” 

He leans forward, and Daichi eyes flutter shut before Kuroo's lips meet his, soft, so tender Daichi's heart aches. He gasps into the touch, a broken little sound, and Kuroo's fingers bury into his hair, angle his head to deepen the kiss. Daichi meets him willingly, feeling as if he can exhale after holding his breath for too long now that Kuroo is so close, now that he can taste him. Their lips move together, clumsy, inexperienced, a little too eager and a little too scared, and Daichi wants to sob because it feels so right, so much like _home_. 

Kuroo's moving lips ignite a fire, starting in his stomach and with his heart, pumping it through his veins with every hammering beat. It spreads over his skin, all over, the most intense where Kuroo is touching him, and Daichi brings up his hands to dig his fingers into the fabric of Kuroo's shirt over his shoulder blades.

Something within him melts under the heat of Kuroo's touch, shapes under his hands, eases away the jagged egdes that cut Daichi every step of the way. 

_I can make you happy,_ Kuroo said, and all Daichi can think is _You already do, every day, you idiot._

When they part, Daichi keeps his eyes closed and breathes, his lips warm and tingling and feeling empty now, as if they should never be apart again. 

Kuroo's hands still cup his face, and he is so close, Daichi feels his breath on his skin as he moves a little higher. 

“It's time to get rid of the masks for good,” Kuroo whispers before he kisses his forehead. 

 

Kuroo takes his hand and Daichi does not let it go. He clings to him, because there is nothing else you can do when all you leave behind in the life you've known so far is a pair of shoes.  
Their hands are entwined as they leave the hall where everyone is gathered for a concert, the sound of anything which might be going on inside muffled by thick doors already. Daichi does not look back, and neither does Kuroo. He walks slightly ahead, the only one of them knowing where his steps are headed. 

His car is a little shitty. It smells like years of use, worn-out leather, cheap air freshener and Kuroo. Daichi settles into the seat next to Kuroo as if he belongs there. (He does.) His hand finds Kuroo's on the gear shift. 

“Pick a CD. There's tons of stuff under your seat.” 

The engine hums to life and Daichi concentrates on rifling through the stacks of albums and stuff Kuroo slapped together, songs and artist names crammed all onto the front cover in his messy scrawl, instead of looking at the scenery shifting outside as they leave behind the concert hall. Daichi picks 'Fast Car', the first song he doesn't know.

As the music spills over them, tugging at Daichi – _he had not known how close this would hit home_ – they keep clinging to each other. 

“We're not going back,” Kuroo says, after another twenty kilometres, when enough songs played to ease the melancholy from the first. Daichi still feels weird, caught up in a dream. About to wake up and drag himself out of bed for another day of fake smiles and manners and trying not to cross his parents because their punishment got worse each time, and they figured his weaknesses out more and more. 

(Kuroo. It had always been Kuroo, ever since that masquerade ball.) 

“I'll make you happy. You know how I'll start?” 

“Mmmh?”, Daichi hums, tired from everything, his head leaned back and his eyes closed, the knowledge that the scenery kept shifting outside soothing. 

Kuroo squeezes his hand. 

“How does greasy fast food sound?” 

Daichi smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> And then they live a long, happy, humble life together and Kuroo complains about Daichi's cold feet at night and Daichi complains that Kuroo leaves his socks lying around everywhere and they are grossly domestic and adopt two dogs. And maybe a tiny Kageyama later fRICK THAT WOULD BE CUTE. And could you imagine tiny siblings Kageyama and Yachi like I'm dying here.


End file.
